Flat pack

I bought some flat-pack shelving yesterday.

Normally I get on pretty well with flat-pack stuff.  OK, I have had a few occasions in the past where I have put the back legs on the front or got something upside down but those things are easily fixed.

Today I set to work on assembling the shelves.  Though I say so myself I did a fucking brilliant job.  The unit stood there in the kitchen in all its glory, straight as a ramrod and as sturdy as Merkel's knickers.

The shelving is to replace some old shelves in the lobby.  The old shelves kept collapsing and if the top one went, it brought down all the others below it.  It was a pain in the arse clearing up the mess constantly, and the shelves were beyond repair so it was time for them to go.

I should explain that the lobby is not very big.  Imagine a telephone kiosk with doors on two sides and you'll get a rough idea.  I had measured the new shelving very carefully so I knew it would fit.  There were a few inches headroom and a couple of inches to spare in the width and it was just nicely deep enough that the sitting room door could open without any bother.

I went to bring my newly completed project into the lobby.

It wouldn't fucking fit.

I couldn't get it around the corners or through the doorways. 

Bollox!

Disassembly time.

The unit is now standing proudly in the lobby.  The shelves are now stacked with all the stuff that used to be on the floor as the old shelves were to flimsy to carry them.

It's a job well done.

However I do NOT recommend trying to assemble flat-pack shelves in a telephone kiosk.

It's a lot harder than it sounds.

 

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Comments

Flat pack — 10 Comments

    • Ikea is one of life's little pleasures that I have never enjoyed.  Nor do I ever intend to enjoy it.

      The trick [apparently] is to not only measure to see if your acquisition fits, but also to measure if you can get it to where it's supposed to fit.  If you follow my drift?

  1.  

    I know the feeling. One time herself wanted to re-do my son's box bedroom with tons of flatpack. It was two units that ran the full length of either wall with an inch to spare either end too. One unit had a bed on top of it and the other had a desk in the middle of it. Remaining floor space as such, allowed only for a single swivel chair. When I had (finally) set up the first of these huge fuckers, (with screws and stuff to spare as usual), In she comes and tells me that I've put it on the wrong side of the room and orders me to, "Just turn it around."

    You could not have fitted a fart in the space between it and the wall. Technically, I assembled one of the shagging things twice. Soon after that actually, I was diagnosed with high blood pressure …….

    • Wrong approach.  When the missus tells you they are in the wrong place you should tell her to move the fucking things herself.  It not only teaches her essential carpentry skills but also prevents cardiac arrests on your part.

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